


when all of our flaws are counted

by allourheroes



Category: X-Men (Movies), X-Men: Days of Future Past (2014) - Fandom
Genre: Anal Sex, Chess, Conflicted Sex, M/M, Missing Scene
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-24
Updated: 2014-05-24
Packaged: 2018-01-26 07:44:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,574
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1680335
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/allourheroes/pseuds/allourheroes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Chess can be a metaphor for many things, especially when it comes to them.</p>
<p>[Missing scene from the plane ride/chess game in <i>Days of Future Past</i>.]</p>
            </blockquote>





	when all of our flaws are counted

**Author's Note:**

> So, I think we all know that this _had_ to be where that scene was headed when they cut away, right?
> 
> Title is an (altered) lyric of the Bastille song "Flaws" because it's a really good Charles/Erik song.

It’s so familiar, teasing each other over the chess board. Charles hadn’t been lying when he said it had been a while. Not since before Cuba, not since _Erik_ \--back when he and Erik had the chance to start something together. They’re not talking about chess, not really.

Charles glances at Logan and Erik follows suit. “Surprising a man like that can sleep around someone like me,” Erik says, almost off-handedly.

Gulping down another glass of scotch, Charles grimaces, “I used to sleep better around someone like you.” He moves a piece across the board haphazardly.

Erik swallows and goes quiet for a moment, as if there are things his mind can’t seem to block out. “I remember,” he says softly, and his eyes meet Charles’s across the little table. _I could say the same_ , he thinks but doesn’t voice, knowing that Charles could’ve heard it had he not sacrificed his abilities for the use of his legs--for one of the many things Erik had taken from him. His guilt is the kind that silently eats away at him while he lashes out defensively, as if he has none.

The signs are there--those little ones he had learned to look for what felt like a lifetime ago. Charles may not have his powers, but they’re thinking the same thing.

Charles eyes him warily for a moment before he grabs Erik’s hand and they stumble into the tiny lavatory--Erik opening and shutting the door without a touch. Erik hears Hank call something towards them, but he slides closed the door between the cockpit and the rest of the plane, puts that extra separation between them. He’s been in solitary for far too long, unable to do much but think. (Of Charles’s hands on him, of the way Charles would be there in his mind, able to respond to every thought, every notion that crossed his mind, of the way Charles would just look at him after with such undeniable adoration, of experiments, of the beach--)

“Your hair is a mess,” Erik says as he tangles his fingers in it and presses his lips to Charles’s. Charles practically devours him in response, crushing kisses being so much more preferable when he knows this is all they’re getting. He can’t handle any tenderness. His hands are already fumbling with Erik’s pants and it’s sloppy and he’s probably more than a little drunk but he doesn’t give a fuck.

It takes them a moment of struggling to get Charles’s pants off and find the first aid kit. Erik questions why there’s lubricant in it and Charles just mumbles something about the kids and safe sex. (There are condoms, too, but playing it safe is the last thing he’s interested in as Erik works two slicked fingers into him.)

There’s barely room to move and Charles is rather anxious--judging by the insistence of Erik’s cock against his hip, he can only assume the other man is, as well. He squirms on Erik’s fingers and gets a chuckle for his troubles.

“Eager, are we?” Erik teases and he knows Charles well enough to realize that although it may not be _enough_ preparation, Charles wants him to get on with it already.

“God, I’ve missed you,” Charles breathes, and a sob catches in his throat. His fingers twist in the fabric of Erik’s shirt as the other man mouths his neck. His legs have wrapped tight around Erik’s waist--there’s so little space anyway--as Erik presses into him, the sink supporting most of his weight. They used to take their time. They used to pretend they shared something that couldn’t be so easily broken.

“Charles,” Erik says. It’s more of a gasp and he has pulled back to look him in the eye, one hand cupping his cheek softly and the other palming his ass.

Charles squeezes his eyes shut, turns his head. His body is shaking. It hurts in every way imaginable to be here like this with Erik, but he needs it. He doesn’t need _Erik_ , he convinces himself, but he needs this. “Don’t,” he says, more words failing to come, and he shifts his hips.

Erik begins to move, his hand sliding away from Charles’s face as if the moment had never happened, taking Charles’s cock and stroking him with each thrust. It’s been a decade and he still remembers this body, the way they used to fit together like it meant something.

Charles makes these gasping noises like he’s drowning and Erik kisses him again. He can’t ignore the way Charles is crying, the sobs that wrack his body hard to ignore when he’s _in_ him. “Charles,” he murmurs into the other man’s mouth. Everything is so fucked up between them and he knows it, the kids are gone and their past can’t be undone, but they’re together _right now_. “Charles, look at me,” he says and his hand moves to the other man’s chin. He waits until Charles opens his eyes, sees the blue that he knows he’ll never properly define. His thrusts are slow, measured, and he can feel where Charles’s beard has scraped his chin and jaw raw as he tries to memorize all the little things about this Charles.

“Erik,” Charles chokes out, and it’s as if he’s seeing him for the first time.

Erik’s lips quirk into something of a smile. “It’s me,” he says. “Me and you, Charles.”

Charles laughs--a broken sound. “Get on with it, then,” he says, his fingers unbuttoning Erik’s shirt if only for want of something to do. “Fuck me.” He puts a hand to Erik’s chest, imagining he can feel the whisper of a heartbeat beneath his fingertips. He tightens the grip of his legs, pulling Erik flush against him.

“If that’s what you want.” Erik’s voice is low and dangerous and it reminds Charles of all the reasons he shouldn’t be doing this, all the reasons he should.

Erik fucks him hard and if the space hadn’t been so cramped, he’d have fallen off the sink. “Oh, god, Erik, Erik--” He’s breathing hard, his breath mingling with Erik’s as their mouths come together in the parody of a kiss. His fingers twitch, the urge to put them to Erik’s temple is a strong one, but meaningless. He knows Erik’s body and he _knew_ his mind, but it’s different now, involves more guessing than he’s ever been good at.

Erik’s hand speeds up on his cock and Charles buries his face in the crook of Erik’s neck, underneath all of the differences--soap, shampoo, new clothes--there is still that smell that is distinct to him and only him and it almost makes Charles feel like everything could be alright. He hopes he’s gripping Erik’s shoulder hard enough to leave bruises as he comes, his mind screaming Erik’s name as a pained sound is wrenched from his throat.

Then, Erik whispers his name as he falls over the edge, spills into him, so quiet Charles can barely hear it over the sound of his own muffled breathing, and his chest feels fit to burst. He’s crying again, he’s certain, but he’s in a bit of a haze. Slowly, regretfully, he lowers his legs from Erik’s waist and pulls back to look at him. He presses his mouth to Erik’s, unwilling to ruin the moment just yet.

“This was a mistake,” Charles says, Erik still in him and his voice trembling ever-so-slightly. It’s just what needs to be said.

Erik nods. “Of course,” he confirms, with the same lack of conviction. They stare at each other for a long moment, catching their breaths. He eases himself out and Charles winces. He’s drunk and lost in thought, but so long as he’s feeling the lower half of his body tomorrow, he’ll likely be feeling _this_ \--another memory to taunt him.

They take the time to clean up and put themselves back together as best they can before exiting the bathroom. Erik’s hand touches the back of Charles’s, his fingertips like little shockwaves to his sensitized skin. Charles just shakes his head.

They sit back down at their little table and Erik slides the cockpit door open, the sound enough to have Wolverine waking up with a start, claws coming out before he shakes his head. He looks at them. They don’t know enough about his abilities to realize he can probably _smell_ them, but they play at nonchalance.

“Just for the record, that was _not_ alright,” Hank growls at them and Logan raises an eyebrow, but stays silent, perhaps still coming out of whatever dream he may have been pulled from.

Charles clears his throat, settles into his seat and tries not to show his discomfort. “Understood, Hank,” he tosses back with a tight smile and sees the Beast shake his head.

Idly, he toys with one of the chess pieces--his king--and resolutely avoids the gaze of the man across from him.

“Maybe we will make a brighter future, Charles. Together,” Erik says, drawing his attention, and Charles doesn’t need his powers to know the fight is far from over for them.

“My friend, you do not know how much I wish that were true,” he murmurs, and pours himself another glass of scotch. It’s the only way he has now to forget.

Erik says nothing. His jaw tenses and he stares at the chessboard.

Their game has barely begun.


End file.
